


Brownies and other ‘B’ words

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Hardcore Parkour the Game, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Humanstuck, M/M, Non-Consensual Tickling, bickering and other pointless goofiness, for your crimes the judge sentences you to be the little spoon, life hack: disguise your lube as hand sanitizer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching your boyfriend play video games at his house might not count as a date. Maybe if he blows you, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brownies and other ‘B’ words

**Author's Note:**

> So actually I started writing this over a year ago when I did a Homestuck Secret Santa piece for wwizarderi on tumblr (that would be the picture). I was basically craving fluff. And usually when I crave fluff I like to tarnish its purity with porn. Wheee.

It seems like every time you go to Sollux’s house you end up watching him play video games for at least two hours before you can even think of trying to convince him to do anything else. He’s been working through Assassin’s Creed again. You’ve played video games before and you’re not sure why anyone would want to play through one more than once. They’re extremely frustrating and horrendously long. Then again, you’re not sure why Sollux does most of the things he does; “frustrating” and “horrendous” are words you could easily use to describe most of his hobbies.

You wouldn’t readily admit it, but for some reason _watching_ him play video games isn’t as horrible as playing them yourself. Maybe it’s because you don’t have to jump or figure out where the door to the next level is or anything. You always sucked at jumping, no matter what game it was. It was just so easy to overshoot or underestimate and you would spend half an hour trying to get up to some dumb ledge just for a key to a room with money in it or some other useless shit.

Yeah, jumping doesn’t pose him any problem. This game has a lot of jumping in it, too. And a lot of other “HARDCORE PARKOUR” as the morons at your school would say. But their version of parkour is sliding across a cafeteria table to kick each other in the face. The character in this game fucking walks up walls, and you think that is a lot more hardcore than anything your classmates could ever hope to accomplish.

You watch as he has the guy (whose name you can never remember) scale a wall that looks plain fucking flat except for a few discolored bricks. You guess the different color means they stick out like one extra millimeter and the guy can climb up them using the massive strength of his fingernails or something ridiculous like that. “Is this what you did all week instead of studyin’ for math?”

He grins. “Abtholutely.”

“If you’re gonna be disgustinly and unfairly smart with your freakish alien brain you could at least try not to be a smug bastard too.”

“I could, but where’th the fun in that.” He shifts a little, and you try to plant your hands on the floor so you can lift yourself off his lap and let him move better, but it’s a little awkward the way your arms are hanging over his legs. “You’re fine,” he says before you can even manage, and you settle back down, readjusting so the back of your head isn’t pushing into his chest as hard. You can’t imagine that was entirely comfortable, but he wouldn’t say anything anyway.

X

Sollux catches up to one of his marks after (what seemed to you) a lot of dicking around, but he claims it was all important since he’s trying to beat it with all the extras and achievements. To which you say “Whatever.”

He does some stabby things and then suddenly he’s holding up the dead guy in the weird white line place that sometimes shows up and whispering some stuff at him. “Wow, that looks really gay.” You laugh a little.

“You’re really gay,” he says, messing with your hair a bit to piss you off.

“ _You’re_ really gay,” you say back, but you’re smiling.

You’re both pretty gay.

X

“Are you hungry?”

“If you’re getting up, yeth, if not, no.”

“I wasn’t offerin’, you dick. You’re a terrible host.” You pick at a loose string on Sollux’s cargo shorts. When you try to yank it loose, another inch of stitches comes unraveled, and the thread remains. Oops. He doesn’t appear to be paying attention.

“I’m an excellent hotht. There’th pittha right there. And chips. Thtop ruining my panthh.”

“This isn’t food, Sol. It’s trash. It’s fuckin’ gross. How long have you been sittin’ here playin’ this dumb game anyway? When was the last time you took a shower?” You keep picking at the thread and it keeps coming loose. He swats at your hand.

“Hey, I told you I wath gonna take a thhower before you came over and I did! My hair ith even thtill kind of wet. You can’t tell me I thmell bad.”

You express your dissatisfaction with that statement with a growl and simultaneously thread your left hand under one of his forearms and over the other, not caring about disrupting his game dumb game, so you can snap the damn thread off. He starts to protest but then he drops the controller and wiggles out from under you. For a second you think he’s mad, which makes you mad because it’s just a stupid game and he’s being a dick, but then he’s half-pinning you with one arm, and half propped up on the couch with the other arm, grinning down at you.

Enzo, or whatever his name is, stops in his tracks and is surrounded by a barrage of bards.

“Thomeone not getting enough attention, hmm?” He obviously thinks he’s really smooth.

You scowl at him. “Move.”

He does, closer to you. The way the light is, it’s hard to tell that his eyes are two different colors, but you can see it. “Hmmm?”

“Get off or I’m gonna hurt you. I get it, you just want to play your stupid game, I’ll go raid your fridge or somethin’.”

“Hmmmmmm?!” His forehead touches yours and your glasses clink together.

He’s giving you really goofy eyes. Goofier even because one is blue and the other is brown. You glare at him to try to get him to stop but it doesn’t work and you start to get uncomfortable. You’re trying not to think about how close his mouth is to yours, and how you haven’t gotten up the nerve to kiss him yet today, even though you guys have made out a bunch of times before. You flick your eyes to the side, ignoring him when he goes “Hm?” again; there’s really nowhere else to look, though, so you go back to staring at him again.

Suddenly he bolts up and dashes off to the kitchen. “Ha, ha, ED ith a big dumb nerd!”

After a second, you sit up and yell, “Are you TWELVE?!”

X

You text Feferi that Sollux is being stupid and immature and continue to sit in the living room, which is surely not stupid or immature. You hear things being taken out of the refrigerator and cabinets. Things, plural, which means he’s not just pulling out some dumb snack again. You are still hungry, and cold pizza and Doritos still do not appeal to you, so you get up and go into the kitchen.

There’s a box of brownie mix on the counter, along with vegetable oil, and a couple of eggs. He’s crouched next to the dishwasher, going through another cabinet to find a mixing bowl. “You wanna do the eggth?” he asks, glancing up at you momentarily before returning to his search.

You cross your arms. “If you’re tryin’ to bribe me, makin’ me do part of the work isn’t the way to do it. Plus what makes you think that after rejecting pizza and chips that I would want brownies?”

“Don’t be thuch a Drama Queen, ED. You can have thomething elthe too. They won’t be ready for a while anyway, duh. Ath if I could lithhen to you whine about being hungry for that long.” He gives up on that cabinet and opens the door of the one above the fridge instead. The bowl he was looking for is right there. “Bethideth, I athked you to do the eggth becauthe you’re better at it than me, dumbathh.”

You roll your eyes and your sleeves up and give in. “Stop tryin’ to bribe me, I’m not mad.”

He opens the brownie mix while you’re washing your hands and carefully shakes all of the brown powder into the bowl. “Dude, don’t flatter yourthelf, I jutht want brownieth.” He’s smiling goofily at you again. You stick your tongue out at him, but you smile too.

X

You don’t mind fixing yourself a sandwich while he finishes mixing the brownies and sticking them in the oven. You wander back into the living room with your prize and sit down on the couch. Even if the hardwood floor is covered with a rug, sitting on it for extended periods of time makes your ass fall asleep.

Magically enough, the bards have lost interest in Ezzo. You think for a moment when Sollux comes back in and scoops up the controller that he hasn’t, but he just pauses it and sits down next to you, one arm slung over your shoulders. “What do you wanna do?”

“Eat this sandwich and watch you play this weird game.”

He makes an obnoxious “Wrong!” buzzer noise.

“Fuck you Sol, I’m not that codependent. I can’t do anything right now; I’m eatin’, leave me alone. Play your game.” You take a definitive bite of your sandwich.

“Nah. I’ve been playing thith all week. Inthtead of thtudying for math. Rather do thomething elthe.”

“Fine, but you can do it by yourself. I’m eatin’,” you repeat. Your phone chimes. Fef texted you back.

‘ _Aww i’m sorry you think so. And i’m sorry he has to deal with you thinking so. What’s he doing that has offended your princeliness anyway?_ ’

“What’th FF want?” He could guess from the text that you were complaining him, but neither of you care because you weren’t serious and you both know it.

“Nothin’, I was just tellin’ her that you’re acting like a child.” You take another bite and start on your reply, which will detail this exact sentiment.

“I am a child.” Technically. But only for two more months.

 _‘Precious baby appreciates your concern. He’s readin my texts and bein a general pest_ ’ you tap out with one finger.

 “Why do you like bringin’ that up so much?”

“Becauthe it botherth you.” He leans his head against your ear and watches as you load your blog on your phone, which you’ve decided to check just because now you feel like _you_ have to do something to entertain him. His breath tickles your collarbone.

You ignore what he said in favor of more sandwich and blog posts. Your running low on the former but you probably have enough of the latter to occupy some time.

He occasionally asks you to scroll back up or click on a post, either to say something snarky or to concede that it might maybe be a sort of cool or funny or interesting thing. Occasionally you are interrupted by Feferi, but the interruptions are short and you can quickly return to your internet hobby. In 15 minutes you hear the beeper on the oven go off, but neither of you moves for another two minutes. The brownies are only slightly burned.

X

The brownies are cooling and you’re now in Sollux’s room looking at things on his computer. Something he saw on your phone reminded him of a video he wanted to show you, which you watch while squished next to him on his twin bed, his laptop balanced on one of each of your thighs. This of course leads to more YouTube browsing.

At one point, you both go for the touch pad at the same time, each trying to get a different video, and end up fighting over which one to watch by frantically tapping all over the little square until you end on something completely different that you’re not even sure was on the list of recommended videos. But you realize that you grabbed his hand, or he grabbed yours, or something, and your fingers twine together not long after.

The video starts out a little weird but is mostly uninteresting, and neither of you is really watching it anyway. It ends and neither of you goes to change it.

Sollux uses his free hand to close his laptop and maneuvers it onto his desk by practically throwing it over the gap, intending for you to keep holding hands, but in the end you both end up breaking the link out of instinct to protect the expensive instrument. As soon as it’s safely ¾ of the way on the desk, though, it is forgotten.

Hands are replaced on sides and shoulders, moving to necks and hips quickly as you kiss. Closed-mouthed kissing can be reserved for resolution sequences of movies and TV shows. This is the real world. You’re teenagers and you have hormones, and there are no viewers to impress.

Sollux is a better kisser than you. You think that’s weird because he has a speech impediment, and you would have thought this meant he doesn’t know how to use his tongue, but somehow, despite being a gross dumb nerd, he’s had more practice. For some reason people find him really attractive. Even though you’d like to, you can’t blame them, because you do too. That being said, you were never bad, and are getting better. You follow his cues, not that he didn’t have to tell you to do that at first, which was a slightly-to-moderately embarrassing conversation for both of you, and only happened because your best friends independently badgered you into doing it. You’re both glad they did.

The heat of his mouth feels so good on yours, as does the softness and wetness of his tongue. He captures the tip of yours between his teeth, then lets you slide it back between his lips. You bite his bottom lip, taking the hint, and the appreciative squeeze he delivers to your hip makes you release it and thrust into his mouth, curling the tip of your tongue around his.

Certainly there are better angles for this. Your neck hurts a little from craning it to the side, and you can guess his does too. When your discomfort finally gets to the point where having a moment of awkward gesturing and reshuffling trumps continuing to kiss from an ergonomically unfriendly position, you do break away and sit up a bit more against the wall. He seems confused, like he thinks you wanted to stop.

“My neck was startin’ to hurt, just come over here,” you mutter, unsure why you’re embarrassed. He smiles a little nervous smile and quickly straddles you, significantly farther back on your thighs than you had in mind. You feel yourself go a little redder for even thinking about trying to sneak a peek at his crotch (not that a glance would do it; lousy goddamn stupid cargo shorts), but he ducks into your neck and you find yourself worrying more about your pants.

He hasn’t even made contact yet, but his breath is still so warm you think you might melt. “Where’th it hurt?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. He kisses your skin, chastely at first, just the gentle press of his lips, and then opens his mouth and swipes his tongue over the couple of inches that had been warmed by his breath.

“It’s not anywhere you could get at,” you mutter. Duh, Sol. But then you regret being callous, because you want him to keep giving your neck attention. It’s another thing he’s good at, presumably also from practice.

He hovers just above your skin for a moment. You wish you could see his face. You hope you didn’t offend him or anything.

But then he blows a big, wet, loud raspberry in your neck and you yelp. It feels gross and weird and also tickle-y. He continues to be horrible by tickling your ribs, and you’re unfortunately pinned between his scrawny self and the wall.

“Thay merthy!” Sollux demands over your involuntary giggles. But under them, you are livid. You’re going to deck him.

You have no choice. “Mercy! Ha ha ha—Goddamn you _stop!”_ you wheeze.

He stops. He’s grinning. You’re not. “Get off me,” you say.

He stops grinning. “Are you mad?”

“Get _off_.”

He gets off of you and sits at the end of the bed on his heels. You pull your legs in and cross them, glaring at him. You’re not really that mad, but you’ve made it seem like you are, and now you don’t know how to get out of it. Dammit. You are so high maintenance.

“ED,” he says imploringly.

You raise an eyebrow at him. You don’t have anything to say to that.

“Eridan, come on. I’m thorry.” He uses your full name instead of the dumb two-letter truncation to show that he’s serious.

You could just say you’re not mad. But then you wouldn’t know how to explain you’re sulkiness. You’d rather have him think you’re mad than have him think you’re stupid for pretending to be moody. “I want a brownie,” you tell him.

He sighs and drops his head, playing the part of ‘boyfriend in the dog house’ well. Then he gets up off the bed and goes into the kitchen. Since you don’t have anything else to do while you’re waiting for him to come back, you get up and straighten out his covers, then sit back down on the edge of it. You look around. He’s got a bunch of video game posters, predictably. There’s an Assassin’s Creed one, but it’s for the first one, and you think that was the second one he was playing. There’s also one for Silent Hill, which you refuse to watch him play because it’s just too damn creepy. He’s also got Spyro, which you did kind of like because dragons are cool, and a few others.

In addition to posters, he’s got a really elaborate set up for his desktop computer that occupies about a third of his room. It’s actually pretty sweet, and you are a little jealous, although you don’t really know why because you don’t use your computer for much other than blogging and Facebook. It just looks really cool, you guess. Except he’s got about a million cords tangled together in a huge knot of cord barf down below the desk, which also spreads onto the top behind the monitor.

And then of course he’s got clothes on the floor, and binders and pages of old Homework. DVD cases, some of them open and not containing DVDs, are also lying around. If you look carefully you can see the DVDs under the other junk. You’ve told him he’s going to step on one and cut his foot open one day, but he insists he knows where they are and that that won’t happen.

Sollux comes back with a paper towel weighed down by a brownie in each hand. He hands you one and sits next to you on the edge of his bed. You eat quietly. He leans his head on your shoulder, and you’re grateful for the contact. “I’m not mad,” you say. It’s been a long enough period to merit forgiveness, probably.

“Tell me my brownieth are good then,” he says, still leaning on you.

“You made them from a box.”

“Stroke my ego, ED. I’m a very fragile perthon and I need conthtant reathurance.”

You roll your eyes, not that he sees. “The brownies are good. Happy?”

“Ecthtatic.” He pops the last bite in his mouth and clambers up behind you on the bed. His hands go to your shoulders, and he rubs his thumbs up and down the back of your neck. It makes swallowing your brownie feel kind of weird, but you don’t care because it’s nice. You finish it and then you can enjoy him massaging you.

After a few minutes, he either grows bored or his hands get tired, and he drops them and kisses the back of your neck before sitting next to you again.

“When’s your Dad coming back?”

“Dunno,” he says unhelpfully. Then he smirks. “Why do you athk?”

You blush just slightly. He’s teasing you. Which is unfair, because you could tell he was thinking about doing the same thing as you were. “Just wondering,” you say.

Sollux gets up and goes over to the door, closing it and turning the little lock. “Feel better?” he asks.

You nod, still blushing. He walks over to you, stands in front of you for a moment. He leans down and kisses you again. His hands drop to your hands and you curl your fingers around his. You pull at his lips with yours, and he traces the point of your tongue with his.

After a bit, he must get tired of craning over, so he gently pushes you down on the bed. You bump your head on the wall because neither of you realized the bed was too narrow to accommodate your whole torso, and after he mumbles a ‘Thorry’ against your lips, puts his hand on the back of your head and guides you down diagonally so you can lie all the way down. He keeps himself poised over you with his forearms pressed into the mattress as you continue to kiss. He tastes like brownies, and you imagine you do too; you both exchange the flavor between each other.

You start to feel yourself getting hard again. His legs are between yours, but no part of his lower body touches yours, and you think that’s a shame. You lift your leg up and wrap it around his thighs, pulling him closer to you. You feel him smile against your lips and he steps forward and shifts his arms so he’s pressed against you from your crotch to your chest. Much better. And you can feel a distinct lump in his pants.

When you went to Winter Formal together, you drove him home, and you ended up making out in the backseat of your car and grinding on each other until you both came in your pants. Except for the sticky aftermath, it was the hottest thing that had ever happened to you, and you’ve been craving more ever since.

You wrap your leg tighter around his and roll your hips up against him. He bites down on your lip and presses back. Your lips are jolted apart every once in a while now with the rhythm of you thrusting against each other, and you’re both moaning into each other’s mouths. It’s so easy to imagine you’re fucking with just a few layers of clothing separating you. It makes you hot, and just a little bit dizzy. You drag your nails down his back over his t-shirt; the fabric bunches and springs back.

And then he’s pulling away from you, and the pleasure that was building in your groin drops off and you feel frustrated. He straightens, and you elbow your arms back to prop yourself up. Then he drops down to his knees in front of you with his hands on your thighs. “ED, can I?” he asks breathlessly. Oh. _Oh_. Well, that’s better than grinding.

“Yeah,” you say, with maybe a little too much obvious excitement. He smiles, noticing, and that just makes him look cuter. You sit up more and watch without breathing as he undoes your pants. You lift your hips so he can pull them down past your knees. You feel a little shy, being completely exposed in front of him, but it’s not as bad as you thought it would be. He doesn’t stare, and you’re grateful for that.

He does reach over to the table next to his bed and grab a small, label-less bottle of clear gel and pours some into his hand, then rubs it over your cock, twisting his hand to get it all over you. It’s cold, but his hand is warm. Not to mention he’s actually touching you, which is indescribably exciting.

“I thought that was hand sanitizer,” you say, fighting the urge to rock your hips.

Sollux chuckles. “The more you know.” He looks up at you for just a second, his mouth poised near your dick, hand still around your base. You swallow, your mouth dry. He leans forward and presses his tongue flat against you from the side of his thumb all the way up to your head. It’s a completely new sensation, having something that isn’t a hand touching you there. His tongue can cover less of you at a time, but it still feels good—really good.

Your breath comes through your parted lips as you watch him lick you. Seeing it is almost as arousing as feeling it. He watches you, too, eyes straining upward to your face as his tongue swirls around your head, spilling the little bit of pre-cum that forms. You can’t help but think he must have done this before, and you get a little jealous. But quickly you decide you have no reason to be jealous, because right now you’re the one getting the attention of Sollux Captor’s glorious mouth.

His other hand moves from your thigh to between his legs and he starts kneading himself through his pants. You want to touch him, too, but you’re getting the sense that that might not happen today. You’ll have to pay him back for this some other time.

You hear a zip as he undoes his pants and wiggles his hand inside. You swallow again and moan quietly. You think he’s smiling. He gives you one more kind of cat-like lick and pulls back a little. “Okay, try not to thrutht. You can put your handth on my head if you don’t puthh me down.”

You nod. Your heart is thumping steadily away in your chest. He tilts your prick down a few degrees and wraps his lips over the head, then pushes down slowly. His tongue is working the underside of you, and combined with the warmth and wetness of his mouth, it feels amazing. At first, you throw your head back; but then you realize you want to watch him, so you roll it back down and rest it on your shoulder.

There’s gentle pressure around the top half of your cock and you almost forget you’re supposed to keep yourself still and buck into his mouth. It gets harder to not do this as he gradually sucks harder, and then as he starts bobbing his head. He twists his hand around the part of you that he can’t get in his mouth, rubbing circles with his thumb.

His other hand moves erratically and he moans around you. The vibrations go straight through your groin, pressure building in your lower body and making you moan back. You probably won’t last very long.

You want to touch him, so you do as he said you could. You brush away his bangs and they flop back stubbornly. He needs a haircut. You rest your hand on the top of his head, being careful not to push, and clench your fingers. You know from kissing him that he likes having his hair pulled.

He definitely approves, because he makes another noise in his throat and moves his hand a little faster. His eyes close briefly, then come up to meet yours again. “Sol…” you breathe quietly.

You think he’s smiling around your cock. He gives an especially hard suck and oh god you’re definitely coming up on the end.

“Sol!” you say again, pulling at his hair a little. He takes the hint and bobs a little faster, works his hand a little faster. It takes a lot of concentration not to gag him by thrusting or pushing down on him. If you were thinking about it, it might occur to you that his head might hurt where you’re practically ripping his hair out, but instead you’re just focused on the feel of his tongue rubbing against your prick, his lips and hand giving you rougher friction, the intense way he keeps his eyes trained on your face. So many sensations.

In another minute, you know you’re about to come. “Sol, s-stop,” you stammer out, tugging on his hair. But he resists you and keeps going, his arm going so frantically you know he must be in the same place as you. You did warn him, so you don’t hold back. He swallows around you, which makes your orgasm that much more intense. When you’re done, he pulls off and leans his forehead on one of your thighs, gripping the other tightly with his other hand.

“Ahh! _Ahh,_ ED!” He squeezes you hard as he comes, and it hurts a bit since you’re kind of sensitive right now, but you don’t mind.

Finally his arm stills and he drops it to his side, breathing hard. You’re still a little winded yourself. And maybe a bit dumbstruck that you just got your first blow job, and it was really good. Excellent, even.

“Is your arm tired?” you ask, grinning a little.

“Incredibly,” he replies.

You don’t know why that’s so funny to you but you start giggling. He looks up and apparently it’s contagious, because he starts giggling too. You laugh for a while; too long, actually, considering how minimally funny that actually was. You attribute it to a post-orgasm high. That’s probably a thing. Endorphins, maybe. You think you might have learned the hormone in bio last year, but the actual science is unimportant to you.

“We should probably get cleaned up before your dad comes back,” you say.

“I locked the door, but yeah, probably. Tothh me thothe tithues?”

You grab the box from his night stand and hand it to him. He takes it and shuffles out of the way so you can grab your pants.

When you’re both all put back together, Sollux lies down on the floor. “Man, thucking dick is exauthing. I could uthe a nap.”

You chuckle again and climb off the bed. You nudge his physics binder out of the way with your foot and lay your head on his stomach. “I could use another brownie,” you say.

“That thoundth good too,” he admits. “My mouth tathteth like jizz.”

You frown at his ceiling. “I did warn you.”

He reaches down and puts his hand over your mouth. “I know. Don’t worry about it.” You lick him and he wipes it off on your shirt.

You both stare at the crumbly bits of stucco above you for a while longer in silence. Or at least, you’re staring at them. You suspect Sollux might have closed his eyes.

You grow bored of the intricate shadows cast by the tiny stalactites and heave yourself up. “Come on, nerd, let’s go get brownies.”

He groans and rolls onto his side, clutching at your leg. “Okay, but after brownieth it’th nap time and you are required to cuddle with me.”

More shenanigans ensue, which include him trying to tickle your foot and you kicking him a tad harder than you mean to in the face. You protest that it was mostly a reflex and his own damn fault, what did he expect, but you feel really bad. He calls you abusive and rolls over, curled up in a ball, clutching his nose and making him sound doubly laughable with now a nasally overtone to his speech impediment. You apologize by bringing him a brownie and a cold Mountain Dew. He says he accepts your apology, but your punishment is that you have to be the little spoon. You agree to this, and kiss his nose better for good measure. You fall asleep curled up with him in his bed for the rest of the afternoon.


End file.
